The Return to Being Bad (post MaPG)

In Being Bad (Another Prelude), posted before the Morality as Playing Games series, I raised what I referred to as a question of “meta-meta-ethics”.  That question was not so much about how you construct a morality (meta-ethics) nor how you apply your theoretical basis for morality (normative ethics) nor about what people believe about morality (descriptive morality), but rather about the purpose of morality – why you might want to construct a morality in the first place.

I also asked “why do we have (or pretend to have) this morality when we so often, and often so easily, throw it away?” and “are there specific situations in which acting contrary to our morality might, paradoxically, be the right thing to do?”

I did threaten to return to this topic and address it in light of Morality as Playing Games, and thus I shall.

First I must defend the assertion that “meta-meta-ethics” is a term that might be needed.  It has been argued elsewhere that the questions I’ve raised, to the extent that they have any validity, “come comfortably under meta-ethics”.   The person quoted, however, made that assertion in context of a claim that “why you might want to construct that morality in the first place” was functionally equivalent to “why ought we try to determine what we ought to do?” – a question which was supposedly senseless.

My argument is that within meta-ethics it is most certainly not a valid question.  When you are mucking around in meta-ethics, you have already accepted that you should be moral and you are just flailing around trying to work out how.  For this very reason, I proposed the term “meta-meta-ethics” to describe the sort of question that you should reasonably address first - a question to which, in most cases, you’ve just assumed that there is a perfectly valid answer, even if you can’t really work out what it is.  Unless of course, you unthinkingly leap into the mire of meta-ethics and then claim that because you are already there, it is obvious that you must have had a reason to jump in.

I accept that “meta-meta-ethics” is an awkward term.  I also fully accept that there is probably a better term, but I know that it cannot be “meta-ethics”.

Alright, now let us look at these questions in light of the series of articles that I have recently posted.

My main contention is that, as per descriptive evolutionary ethics theory, morality is about survival.  If a group has an ethical structure which is poorly suited to promote survival, then over a period of time, that group will eventually die out or be subsumed by a group whose ethical structure is better suited to survival.  The lineages of members within a group who are less able to utilise the communal ethical structure to promote their own personal survival will also eventually die out.  Therefore, eventually, you end up with only groups with ethical structures that promote survival and a preponderance of group members who are skilled at manipulating their group’s ethical structure.

If we were to consider building a new ethical structure, or modifying an existing one, then we should be very careful to keep that in mind.  There are examples of where such attempts have failed miserably.  The Nazis tried to change their ethical structures to the extent that it would become acceptable, at least within the ruling elite, to sanction the destruction of whole classes of people (Jews, homosexuals, gypsies).  This proved to be a disastrous modification to morality on their part, since sufficient numbers of people in the world decided that this was unacceptable and they acted to eliminate the group (ie Nazis).

It is likely that some other, more well-meaning (from my personal perspective) initiatives are also doomed to failure.  For example the idea that everyone should be given self-determination, as part of whatever notional group they may wish to consider themselves a part may be doomed to failure.  In Australia, there is a great wringing of hands over deeply rooted problems in the indigenous communities, with endemic alcohol addiction, appallingly low standards of living and life-expectancy, and disproportionately high rates of violence and incarceration.  The widely accepted solution is to grant more autonomy and special recognition to indigenous peoples.  Perhaps this may actually be the solution, but there is a disturbing possibility that it will lead to the slow elimination of Australia’s indigenous peoples.  Such a failure would, in the future, be compared alongside the accidental destruction of peoples by disease (Central America) as well as more intentional efforts to commit genocide (the eradication of Tasmanian aborigines).

Towards a Rational Origin of Ethical Structures

If an ethical structure has functional benefits for its practitioners, then its onward propagation is more likely than that of a non-functional ethical structure, being one which leads to extinction of those using it.  Within a functional ethical structure, a certain act may be held to be wrong in a moral sense if it is of benefit to the person holding this conception (the ‘moralist’) that others hold the act to be universally wrong.  Additionally, an act is held to be morally wrong if it is of benefit to the moralist that others believe that the moralist also holds the act to be universally wrong.  Primarily, a benefit means an increased probability of survival, but given that survival in abject misery is somewhat less attractive than survival in absolute bliss, a benefit can also refer to an increase of net well-being.

An act is right in a moral sense if it is of benefit to the moralist that others hold the act to be universally right, and it simultaneously benefits the moralist if others believe that the moralist also holds the act to be universally right.

Ethical considerations can work in a similar way with the exception that what is being considered to be wrong is wrong by virtue of a specific situation or relationship, as opposed to being universally wrong.  More often, however, ethical considerations are group considerations. 

An act is right in an ethical sense if it is of benefit to the group to which the "ethicist" belongs that others hold the act to be right in context of that group's activities, and it simultaneously benefits a group if those outside the group believe that members of the group also hold the act to be universally right. 

An example is the ethical stance of a bank manager with regard to honesty.  If clients hold that honesty in bank dealings is right then bank managers can trust clients, and if clients believe that bank managers also hold that honesty in bank dealings is right then clients will trust bank managers.  Since banking is heavily dependent on trust, that monies will be transferred as and when agreed, the ethical position of bank managers has functional benefit.  Furthermore, as a group, bank managers rely on the levels of trust developed by others in the group which is why bankers, and other professional groups, develop and publicise codes of ethics (sometimes referred to as codes of practice).

When developing a universal ethical structure (morality), it is not sufficient to have an internal conception of what is right and wrong.  Morality is only of benefit if it is overt and shared.  Furthermore, it is not sufficient to limit one's list of wrongful acts to only those acts which have greatest import.  By maintaining a register of less important wrongful acts, the commission of which is also ‘immoral’, the members of a society have a mechanism by which they can judge the morality of their fellows by their everyday behaviour, rather than by exception.

If I insist on breaking minor taboos, by being rude and inconsiderate, you are justified in wondering whether I consistently obey other (more important) moral injunctions, such as that against theft.  We tend to trust people who are overtly polite and considerate, sometimes to our disadvantage.  Confidence tricksters operate by gaining our trust by appearing to be entirely moral with respect to everyday community norms and then betraying us when it comes to concepts of possession and ownership.

(Many of us are therefore a little wary of people who appear too polite and considerate.  We know that we ourselves fail to be entirely polite and considerate from time to time, so when observing a person who is being very polite and considerate we are struck with the thought “What does this person really want?”)

We can therefore further say that moral and ethical considerations seem to rest on three fundamental rules:

            Do not intentionally do that which one knows to be considered to be wrong.

            Know what is considered to be wrong.

            Ensure that others know what is wrong.

This is not to say that all moral injunctions are universally relevant.  There are situations in which two moral injunctions compete, as in the prisoners’ dilemma where “do not lie” was in competition with “do not betray your colleagues”. Additionally, moral injunctions are only applicable with those you truly consider your equal in humanity.

Finally, it is not universally necessary to refrain from an act merely because the act is considered morally wrong.  It is more important that you are not observed performing an immoral act by someone who matters, in other words someone capable of ensuring that consequences will flow as a result of your performing that act.  This is why, when you put on a mask and join a mob of football hooligans, you are significantly more likely to smash a shop window than if you were just taking a nice afternoon stroll wearing nothing more than a hat.

----------------------------------------------

This article is one of a series. It was preceded by Supreme Indifference and Inhumanity and will be followed by Physical Survival and Legacy Survival. It all started with the first prelude, Saving the Dog.

Ethics as Winning Games

Note that this is part of a series.  Links are provided to where earlier topics were discussed.

One of the most intriguing issues in the field of ethics is the fact that while we may have what we consider to be morals (an understanding that something is wrong, possibly universally wrong) – we transgress against moral injunctions repeatedly.  We cheat, we steal, we kill and we lie.  Despite this, we insist that we are moral creatures and continue to hold our morals in high esteem, no matter how many times we do the opposite of what those morals tell us is the right thing to do.  Why should this be so?

We have discussed game theory, and hinted at the possibility that ethics derives from a form of ‘game’ playing.  One aspect of this should be clarified.  Game theory is not just about playing games – it is invariably about winning games.  Some might argue that for that very reason game theory, like a decision made in a war-like context - all being fair in love and war, has little to do with ethics and morality.  Ethics and morality, as the argument would run, is about what is right and what is wrong.

This is true enough, but when we specifically looked at the framework behind ethics and morality as it currently stands we ran into problems.  What was right was right because it was moral, what was moral was moral because it was right.  We thus got nowhere.  Divinely inspired morality also has inherent problems.  We are therefore left seeking a mundane basis for determining right from wrong.

What cannot be argued is that we each of us have an ethical structure of some sort.  By an ethical structure I mean a framework, or system, by which we determine what is right and what is wrong, ethically and morally.  Note that this is about determination, not identification.  Unless one is intellectually lazy, or dishonest, one can always explain why one thing is right, and another thing wrong.  It is agreed that sometimes this process ends in an axiomatic "it just is" statement, for example the Christian bible lists ten commandments that just are, having been provided by a god who just is, if one uses the bible as the basis of one's morality then one's ethical structure could be said to be based on the bible.  While "killing babies is wrong" is reasonably obvious to anyone bar a psychopath, we can still explain why it is wrong, even if we don't have to resort to books of questionable provenance.  When thinking ethically it is not sufficient to identify something as wrong, it is important to also be able to say why it is wrong.

It must be stressed that while we can make decisions about what is right or wrong within an ethical structure, the ethical structure itself has nothing to do with right and wrong.  In other words, an ethical structure itself is entirely amoral.  When generating an ethical structure one cannot call upon knowledge of right and wrong because until the ethical structure is at least partially assembled, there is no right and wrong.  The ethical structure tells you what is right and wrong.  If one attempts to build an ethical structure based on knowledge of what is right and wrong, it is not needed – because what is right and wrong is already known and you therefore already have an ethical structure.

So, what purpose does our ethical structures serve?  Many argue that ethical structures exist so we may know what is right and what is wrong.  This is hardly cogent because without the ethical structure, there is no right and wrong.  It is akin to saying that the television was invented with the express purpose of being able to watch television programs.  True, we can use the television to watch various fascinating programs, in the same way as we can use our ethical structures to determine what is right and what is wrong.  However, without the invention of the television, there would be no television programs to watch.

I suggest that our ethical structures help us to win a very special game, the only game in town - "survival".  Some may argue that winning the game of survival has nothing to do with ethics, but one cannot logically argue against the importance of the game.  There is no person alive today who has a direct ancestor who played the game of survival so poorly that they failed to produce at least one child.  The vast majority of Europeans, for instance, have relatives who survived successive waves of the Black Death.  Our ancestors have survived drought, famine, war and pestilence.  They managed to co-operate sufficiently with others in their societies such that they were not cast out to die beyond the city’s gate, executed for crimes or murdered – at least for a period of twenty to thirty years or so until they produced viable offspring. 

Furthermore, when the chips were down and it came to the survival of our ancestors and their circle of kin, or outsiders – our ancestors prevailed.  Our ancestors won and they won because they were consistently adequate at whatever ‘games’ they were faced with – they might not have won every single ‘game’, but they never lost one that really mattered.

Our ethical structures are extremely useful when it comes with interacting with other people, as can be seen with the benefits to Prasopgarn and Sukhum (see The Siamese Emperor) - their survival may depend on the efficacy of the imperative to keep one's promises (or the injunction against betrayal, or more simply against lying). 

There is more to an ethical structure than making up a list of things that are right and wrong, telling the world and leaving it at that.  There is good reason to believe that our ethical structures consist of not just arbitrary rules, but rather very special lies which we tell others so often that we effectively begin to believe the truth of them ourselves.  Consider the morality of theft.  This could be blandly stated as “Stealing is wrong.”  But why?  When it comes to most moral and ethical questions, most of us are really more concerned about the actions of other people rather than about imposing limits on ourselves.  We might say “I think that stealing is wrong”, but what we mean primarily is “I want you to think that stealing is wrong”.  We also mean “I want you to think that I think that stealing is wrong”. 

It’s clear that if you have a real moral injunction against stealing, then I do not have to invest effort in protecting my belongings from you.  However, there is a more insidious reason why an ethical structure with regard to stealing might benefit me.  If you truly believe that I have a moral injunction against stealing, you may trust me with your property.  This means that if I see an opportunity to take your belongings without detection, and I can be quite sure that you believe I would not have taken them even if I had the opportunity, due to my declared moral stance “I think that stealing is wrong”, then I may steal from you with a better chance of getting away with it than would otherwise be the case.

From the standpoint of our ancestors this makes considerable sense.  During times of plenty, no-one needed to take from anyone else – little was to be gained from stealing from each other.  At such times, though, our ancestors would have made an investment in the future by being overtly trustworthy and ostentatiously respecting other people’s property.  When times got bad, however, our ancestors cashed in on that trust to prevail over those who were overly trusting.

Those who failed to play the ‘trustworthiness’ game sufficiently well did not survive when recurring games, such as bartering at the local market, segued into an end game, such as during war or an extended period of famine.  Therefore, as a species, we have become extremely adept at convincing others that we have an ethical structure and moral values which we hold dear.  The more successful among us are also, however, quite adept at jettisoning those moral values when conditions change, when we are outside our normal social milieu, or when we think that no-one is watching.

 ----------------------------------------------

This article is one of a series.  It was preceded by The Siamese Emperor - Part 2 and will be followed by Supreme Indifference and Inhumanity.  It all started with the first prelude, Saving the Dog.

Being Bad (Another Prelude)

I have an abiding interest in ethics, or perhaps more accurately meta-ethics and maybe even more accurately, but somewhat awkwardly, meta-meta-ethics.

Ethics or Moral Philosophy is a branch of philosophy which looks at concepts of right and wrong.  Within Ethics, there are a number of fields, including:

·         Meta-ethics – understanding the theoretical basis of morality

·         Normative ethics – understanding how to achieve morality using whatever theoretical basis for morality rocks your boat

·         Descriptive ethics – understanding what people believe about morality

While studying meta-ethics, one might ask what ‘good’ and ‘bad’ mean. With the term meta-meta-ethics, however, I am referring to a different sort of question – specifically a question about the purpose of morality.  Rather than asking about the basis on which you build your morality (although that is also of interest), I want to address the question of why you might want to build that morality in the first place.

To some people, this might sound like a strange sort of question.  But once you start asking, you quickly end up in a horribly circular discussion about wanting to do good because it is the right thing to do, and wanting to do the right thing because it is good to do so.  A simple exit from this endless loop is to admit that a benefit derives from doing good, from doing the right thing.  Quite a few people, however, are remarkably resistant to the notion that there is some benefit that derives from good, righteous action.

Soon I will begin a sequence of articles which build a case for an ethical structure which acknowledges that we might benefit by being moral.  First, however, I want to address a question that arises when considering moral theories.  An example might be apt.

I have a friend who argues for a form of universal morality although, following the example of Sam Harris, she likes to call it “objective morality”.  Her argument is that there is a “well-defined and accepted moral system” which is based on the principle of minimising suffering, or as it was posed in question form “Would you say that the need to lessen suffering is an accepted moral fact, and appears to have been a fact since societies were formed?”

You can get an idea of my response, which was graphic, if you google for images using the following search strings:

·         cockfighting injury

·         dog fighting injury

·         bear fighting injury (I used the cute one, with two cubs sparring, since the first two images I selected were rather confronting)

·         African child starving

One might also consider witch trials, gladiatorial games, public executions, Big Brother and FaceBook along with the many other methods by which humans have inflicted suffering on others – or idly stood by while observing the suffering of others.

In short, my answer was "No".

While there is some considerable attraction in the idea that humans are noble enough to want “the need to lessen suffering” to be “an accepted moral fact”, the evidence indicates that – as a species – we don’t really act as if there is such a need.

The graphic examples are, of course, extreme cases.  But even when we consider mundane “moral facts”, such as they are “facts” and “moral”, we see cracks in the underlying moral theory.

People rail against lying, saying that lying is bad, yet we all lie (research indicates that about 80% of people report lying at least once a day, other research seems to indicate that the remaining 20% are lying about how often they lie.  In a TED talk on how to spot a liar, PamelaMeyer reports that we are lied to between 10 and 200 times a day).

People rail against stealing, yet very few of us have never taken a single thing that didn’t belong to them (I, for example, know of no other person who is as blameless as myself – so long as we don’t count grapes, of course).

We do bad things, things that we know to be wrong – although when challenged we will usually go for double or nothing by then lying about it.

So, the question that really intrigues me is this: why do we have (or pretend to have) this morality when we so often, and often so easily, throw it away?

Are there specific situations in which acting contrary to our morality might, paradoxically, be the right thing to do?

I’ll return to these questions after a series of articles discussing ethical structures.  The first of those articles is The Moral Animal, but if you're looking for the other two preludes they are here: Saving the Dog and The Problem with Sam.